


Since Last She Saw Them

by Inquartata (mackillian)



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Established Relationship, F/F, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 18:24:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13909671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mackillian/pseuds/Inquartata
Summary: Only one argument remained constant between them.





	Since Last She Saw Them

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lady_Katana4544](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Katana4544/gifts).



With less than a century lived of her own life, it felt strange to tell someone with a thousand years of life behind them that she was wrong. But Karin was right and she wasn’t going to let those thousand years of Samara’s run roughshod over her. 

It was one of the few arguments they had, though it remained constant over time.

“ _You should go see them.”_

_"I cannot.”_

_“You’ve decided that you won’t. That isn’t the same.”_

_“I cannot.”_

_“I’ve seen in your mind what you miss. Pretending that you don’t miss them, that you don’t miss being their mother, doesn’t change the truth of what you feel.”_

_“I cannot.”_

_“What does the Code say about justicars lying to themselves?”_

_Samara’s head jerked upward. Silvery-blue eyes widened, but their gaze went inward as she considered the question. Before long, her focus returned to the person who’d asked the question, the piercing stare pinning Karin in place._

If they had been younger—as younger went for either of their species—they might have been petty. Samara could easily have gone on the offensive, to project the notion of lying to oneself onto Karin. Had she done so, it would be as much the truth as what Karin said to Samara. But neither of them chose petty. It wasn’t who they were individually; it wasn’t who they were together.

_“Your question is insightful.” Samara blinked and the stare was gone, yet her internal composure did not return. “You will have to excuse me. I must meditate to determine whether or not it applies to my situation.”_

_A small, rueful smile tugged at the corner of Karin’s mouth. “Samara.”_

_Samara reached out and gently took Karin’s hands. “I assure you that I am fine.”_

_That Karin did not immediately call bullshit should’ve earned her a medal from the Alliance. “While once I might have recommended thinking about it over a bottle of brandy, we both know what happened the last time we overindulged.”_

_An ephemeral smile graced Samara’s lips. “You refer to the time when Shepard walked into the medbay and found you—I believe she described it as you crying into my bosom.”_

_Karin’s smile widened as the ruefulness fell away. “And then she told Jeff, because not five minutes after she’d gone, Jeff contacted me over comms and asked if Shepard had lied to him. After I assured him that she hadn’t, he told me he was jealous.”_

_“How is he doing?”_

Samara had never accused Karin of not understanding what it was like to be a mother. After the first time they’d disagreed over Samara visiting her daughters, Samara commented on how Jeff and Shepard were as much children to Karin as Samara’s daughters were to her. Samara’s simple observation relieved Karin of the worry that she might have overstepped. It also served to embolden her to continue pressing her side of the matter of Samara visiting her daughters, but if Samara had minded, she didn’t mention it through all Karin’s persistence.

_“He’s doing surprisingly well. He and EDI cooked up some sort of cover story for EDI that involves her acting like a VI and refusing to follow anyone’s instructions except his. It means he spends a great deal of time on the Normandy, which makes him happy, even though he’s under guard the whole time he’s there.” Karin traced the strong line of Samara’s jaw with her finger and then tapped Samara on the chin. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you resorting to asking about a child of mine instead of continuing to talk about your own.”_

_“Perhaps I wished to hear about the children who had a better mother.”_

_Karin frowned. “That isn’t what this is about.” Just before she returned her hand to her side, Samara lifted her chin. There it was—they were both far too intractable for their own good and she needed to put a stop to it for now. “And even if it were, I wouldn’t be so certain. Two of my children are under house arrest, after all.”_

_“Their cause was for the greater good. There should be no shame in their actions.” Samara leaned forward and brushed her lips against Karin’s before she said, “You never told me what brought you to such sorrow.”_

_“What? I never told you that I have a tendency to be a weepy drunk?”_

_Yet, they both knew it was more Karin lying to herself than it was being a sad drunk. It was everything to do with Karin insisting that what happened on the Collector ship was behind her and that she was fine. It wasn’t like much could be hidden when you’d spent time within the other person’s mind._

The problem with maturity was that you became quite adept at lying to yourself. An advantage of being young and petty was how everything would often be thrown into the open and dealt with all at once, rash and harsh and likely to bring regrets later, but it would be done and over. While neither of them would be fine after a blowout like that, they also wouldn’t be insisting that they were fine when they were decidedly not.

 _I’m fine_ and all its variations were the biggest lies in the history of existence.

The argument never held animosity. Not when one person wanted the other to stop subjecting herself to needless torment while the other couldn’t bring her partner to understand why she could not. Defensiveness, apprehension, worry, care, concern, love, frustration, exasperation—Karin would’ve been lying if she’d said she hadn’t thought about hitting Samara over the head with a stick on at least one occasion, and she was certain Samara had entertained the same with her. However, before the exasperation could transform into enmity, either Samara would gracefully change the subject to something esoteric, or Karin would inject humor into the conversation. 

Then, for a time, they would move on.

Over the days and weeks of each of their separations, Karin would somehow forget how Samara’s very being and her physical presence filled any room that she stood in. Then Samara would appear again, larger than life—literally so, compared to humans. And when she appeared on the Citadel after the news had spread that the Reapers attacked Earth, Karin knew it was no coincidence. But they didn’t speak of Earth immediately. Not when Karen exited the med clinic where she’d volunteered that morning, not as they shared a greeting that gained eyebrows from a few passersby, and not as they strolled to a restaurant a short distance from the Alliance R&D lab where Karin would work for the afternoon.

As they ate lunch at an outdoor cafe, they engaged in another pastime of theirs. People watching.

“That turian there,” said Karin. “The one with the limp.”

Samara followed the line of Karin’s eyes to the turian in question, and then considered him for a scant few seconds. “Being turian, you would think he was injured while engaged in military service. However, he is not wearing the injury like a badge of honor. He seems ashamed. Whatever happened, I would guess that he is an outcast.”

“Twisted his ankle tripping up a set of stairs this morning. He’s ashamed because he’s supposed to be following doctor’s orders and resting the damn thing.”

Samara turned toward her with a raised brow.

“He came into the day clinic. I was curious to see how accurately you could guess.” Without bothering to hide her amusement, Karin used her chin to indicate new subjects of observation. “All right, try the two volus.”

“They are related.” Samara leaned back into her chair and crossed her long legs as she considered the pair further. “But they are also business partners. The one on the left is a drunk and has put his family fortune in jeopardy through risky business dealings. But now the Blue Suns have kidnapped his wife and his brother brought the ransom: two point three million credits.”

Ever so slowly, Karin folded her arms and then narrowed her eyes across the small table nestled in the corner of the patio. “That seems suspiciously detailed.”

On another person, the light in Samara’s eyes would have been a brilliant smile. “I made it up.”

For those twenty or so minutes, it was nice to not think about the war that had descended upon Earth, the war that would descend upon all of them, or the fates of those people whom Karin considered her children. But the levity evaporated when a ragged, shell-shocked group of humans walked by. 

Suddenly, it was like Samara had returned to the Citadel to be there to listen. Like she had known that Karin would finally be compelled to talk about what had and was happening.

“As we sit here enjoying our lunch,” Karin said as she watched the four adults and two children disappear into an elevator, “how many souls are in agony this very moment? Millions? Billions?” They could be trapped, as she and much of the Normandy’s crew had once been. Trapped inside those pods, watching as their crewmates were liquified right in front of them, unable to move, only able to scream. And now those impossible numbers were experiencing the same agony and she wanted to cry. Instead, she told the truth. “Samara, I lied each and every time. I’m not fine.”

Samara reached across the table and prised Karin’s left hand from her glass of water. Then she took it into her own. “I’ve known. And I am here.”

It was too much and she still had hours of work left ahead of her. “I need to get to the lab.” She tore her gaze from the elevator where the refugees had gone and looked at Samara. “How long are you on the Citadel this time?”

“I will be at the apartment whenever your shift ends.”

As it had been threatening to do, Karin’s throat choked off any further words she might have said, even the thank you she wanted to convey to Samara. She settled for squeezing her hand. It helped, having a partner a thousand years old, because they understood some things implicitly, such as when you wanted to speak but couldn’t, and what meanings your actions communicated in the space of your missing words. 

When Samara embraced her before they parted for the afternoon, Karin wished the entire galaxy could know the security within her arms. For that moment, she was reassured.

Samara did not break promises, and so when Karin entered the apartment after her dizzying afternoon, Samara was there. Meditating in the middle of the living area, eyes toward the one long, wide window, but there.

Without turning around, Samara asked, “I assume you heard that the Normandy docked earlier today?” Samara asked without turning around.

“It’s still disconcerting when you do that.” Karin deposited her satchel on the kitchen counter. “And I did hear. As soon as I heard that Kaidan had been brought to Huerta, I went straight up. I saw Shepard there.”

Samara slowly rose to her feet and strode into the kitchen. “How is she?”

“Angry, which is unsurprising and entirely warranted. She asked me to rejoin the Normandy’s crew as Chief Medical Officer. I accepted her offer. The ship’s leaving for Palaven in ten hours.”

“I believe the Normandy is where you will be the most useful in this war.” Samara stood next to Karin, and then placed both her hands flat on the counter behind them. “And where you would be most content. However, due to Shepard’s penchant for finding trouble, I am unsure about its safety.”

When she sought for lightheartedness and came up empty, Karin sighed. “I don’t think safety is to be found in this galaxy right now, not with the Reapers here.” She lifted her hand and intertwined her fingers with Samara’s. “What will you do?”

“Now that the presence of the Reapers has been proven beyond any doubt, I must determine what my Order plans for its efforts in the war. We are few, but we are a force with which to be reckoned.”

“Where do you think you’ll go?”

“My inclination is that we will head for Thessia. We will prepare what of the population we can, and then when the Reapers inevitably arrive, we will attempt to hold it.”

“And you, as well?”

“After I know where the other justicars will be, I must go to my daughters at the monastery. They are my responsibility, and it is one that cannot be abandoned even as our galaxy crumbles.”

Karin said nothing about their lone argument of substance. It had never been an argument to be won. It had been an agreement to be found. 

And found it they had, as they stood in the quiet of the kitchen and struggled to comprehend the galaxy crumbling around them. As they accepted reality for what it was, but wished they’d all had a little longer. 

She hoped Samara’s daughters were alive. Healthy. That Samara would reach them in time. “Then go with your Goddess,” she said out loud. “Bring them home.”

Samara paused. She’d fashioned her reply before Karin had finished speaking and the second part of Karin’s answer had obviously not been what she’d predicted. Rarely did Karin catch Samara off-guard. Samara was deliberate in thought and action, an expression of her constant gravity. 

Justicars were gravitas incarnate, Karin believed. Yet they were still mortal, so very mortal.

“Home?” asked Samara.

As evidenced by Samara’s question. Because she knew as well as Karin did that this small apartment on the Citadel wasn’t really a home to either of them. It was a way station, nothing more.

Karin brought their joined hands in front of them and leaned against Samara, once more searching for that security, once more hoping that she had the ability to lend Samara some of her own. “With the galaxy crumbling? Home will be anywhere you find it. Mine is the Normandy. As far as justicars have homes, it wouldn’t be so far-fetched to consider the Normandy yours, as well.” Then she realized where the conversation was headed and she refused to let it. “Fair warning: if you use the cliche ‘my home is with you,’ I shall never forgive you.”

“Given the itinerant nature of a justicar’s life, perhaps ‘home port’ would be more accurate.”

“Then you’re half-forgiven.”

Samara allowed her smile to remain long enough that it didn’t feel like an illusion. “Our time grows short and more precious than before. I wish to spend it wisely, with one whom I care for and I believe cares for me.”

“Yes, but only the half that forgives you.”

In the morning, they went their separate ways. Karin to the Normandy and Samara to wherever it was the justicars decided, and then wherever it was that Samara’s daughters lived.

Karin couldn’t have said exactly how much time passed, not when it had been a blur of Reapers and refugees, fighting and fury, hope and heartbreak, but Samara did return to the Normandy. 

She returned long after Shepard, Liara, and Garrus had returned and Karin had treated their injuries. After Karin had listened to Liara describe, in faltering phrases, what monsters the Reapers had transformed her people into. After Liara had placed a kind hand on Karin’s forearm and let her know that Samara was alive. After the second dog watch ended and Karin went down to the hangar to wait. After the personal shuttle landed expertly on the hangar deck and Steve nodded appreciatively at the handling. After Steve and James then made themselves scarce.

The shuttle’s door opened. Samara climbed out, sighted Karin, and walked straight for her. When she was close enough, Samara placed her hands along Karin’s cheeks and pressed their foreheads together. Her eyes closed. Karin reciprocated the touch, still waiting for Samara to tell her anything of what had happened.

Remnants of battle clung to Samara’s armor—blood and eezo and muck of questionable origin—and their scent wrapped around them. Karin detected a tremor from Samara, but whether it was from grief or fear or relief or exhaustion, she couldn’t say. And the microscales of Samara’s skin were too cold under the pads of Karin’s fingers. Had she been outdoors this whole time?

Then Samara said, “Falere is safe.”

Karin waited. Dreaded.

“Rila is at rest.” Then Samara opened her eyes and pulled back enough to meet Karin’s gaze. “I am so proud of my daughters. All of them were stronger than I had ever imagined. It was... good to see them.”

When Karin felt a few tears slip down her cheeks, she decided it was a happy cry for all of them. “I’m truly grateful that you were able to get to them.”

Samara used her thumb and a tender touch to wipe the tears from Karin’s face. “For a long time, I had accepted that the role of a justicar is solitary. That its demands are lonely and uncompromising to the point of pain. Now I have realized that the pain does not have to be embraced as readily as one would embrace a lover. When this war is over, and I am able, I will visit my daughter. As a justicar should.” 

Then Samara fell silent, her focus shifting from Karin to a wall somewhere behind her. Several moments passed before Samara brought her attention back. “Shepard informed me that we will stay in orbit for several more hours to give us time to recuperate and to offload what supplies can be spared for Falere.”

Samara hesitated. Then she asked, “Would you like to meet my last daughter?”

“I would love to.”


End file.
